


France’s Letters

by Alegani (Alega)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:09:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alega/pseuds/Alegani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France usually sends love letters, but people never return him the favour. FrUK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	France’s Letters

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote this drabble a time ago for a tumblr meme. I translated it to English and Noebell helped me with the corrections (thank you so much, girl! ;o;). I’m not good at English but I wanted to practice to be better.

France usually sends love letters. Every adult nation has received one at least once in their life; some nations, like Spain or Belgium, receive a letter more than twice a year. Even a nation like Austria (we all know that the relation between Austria and France isn’t the most pleasant in the world), or Hungary, who only accepts France when the subject of his love is another apart from her.

An answer to these letters is unusual. France doesn’t wait for answers, of course. He feels satisfied knowing that he has expressed his truly thoughts towards the nations. He has a longer friendship with some of them, but with others, he only has talked a lot or a bit in the world meetings. He wishes to become closer to them.

Spain never replies to his letters, but he’s fine with the hugs, the kisses and the afternoons, which go by amongst mutual jokes. Belgium smiles at him the next time they meet, comments the content of the letter, thanks him for his words and invites him at her house for a soiree between chocolates and other candies. Monaco usually sends a message to him, telling him something like “I already know all this, brother. I feel the same way for you. Come back to work soon or Germany will go after you”.

A reply by England is even more unusual. Usually, according to Scotland, England throws out the letters at the chimney, enjoying the fire consuming the words. France can imagine the ungrateful shine into England’s eyes, grinning as if the letter actually was his biggest enemy and not, for the contrary, only words of his affection.

That’s why, when France finds a letter written by England on his desk, he suspects that it’s a bad joke at first. He opens it carefully, as if the letter could disintegrate in any time, and reads what the letter says, waiting for a torrent of sarcasm.

What he obtains is a pile of nonsense phrases, written with a horrible handwriting, as the most awkward declaration of love that he has ever read in his life. France identifies that the letter is the result of England being drunken. France sighs, he doesn’t find funny the situation. 

He saves the letter on his desk and goes, finally, to take on his work, but the phone sounds making a specific tone. He should have expected it.

“Are you despairing for hearing my voice, England?” France says, after that the individual starts a request that France can foresee.

“Burn it,” England says. France regrets that he can’t see him in that moment. He needs to show him a smile, only for England can interpret him in the wrong way.

“Do you want me to do what? And with what? I don’t get it.”

France can imagine England’s frustrated expression.

“By the way you’re talking, you already know what I’m referring to. You aren’t so stupid, only irritating, and my patience isn’t prepared to tolerate you today. Burn it or you will pay.

“England, I feel that I’m hearing the threats of a child. If I’m sincere, I recognize that I've read worst texts, even unfortunately published. If you truly want me to burn the letter, you’ll have to be kinder. Or maybe I can be tempted to send it to my friends. You know how Spain is with these things. I want you to charm me…

“I've created curses made especially for you.”

“… with a date. Sober, preferably. I’m free this Saturday at seven, in Paris, of course.”

“I'm not going to set a foot in Paris if I don’t have to do something relevant. Look,” England snorts and France knows that he’s winning. “Friday at eight o’clock in London.” France isn’t surprised by the changes in the agreement. England always has to have the last word. “If you need a farce to erase the mistakes of a gentleman in his worst moment, I’m forced to accept.”

France smiles and, despite the terms of the date, after finishing the call, he writes to Monaco, Spain, Belgium and anyone that can be interested in the future meeting and the adorable slip of a drunken man.


End file.
